


Ginger

by littleblackfox



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: And also some antacids, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate use of ginger, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: “It’s Ayurveda.”“It’s frickin’weeds.”





	

Steve chops fresh ginger root into thick discs, dropping three of the fattest golden slices into a mug. He adds boiling water and scoops out a spoonful of honey, drops it into the mug and waits for it to steep.  
“Steeeve,” Bucky whines from the bedroom. “I’m dying here.”  
Steve snorts and gives the ginger a quick muddle, chucking the spoon in the sink and carrying the mug to his grumpy assassin.  
Bucky is curled up in a nest of blankets. He’s lying on his side, his knees pulled up to his chest.  
“Come on, you big baby,” Steve murmurs affectionately. “Up you get.”  
Bucky whines again, but lets Steve pull him into a sitting position, his knees drawn up, his mismatched hands pressed to his stomach.  
“I hate everything,” Bucky grouses.  
“No, you don’t,” Steve reminds him, moving the pillows and blankets around and tucking himself behind Bucky, bracketing his hips with his thighs like they were in a rowing boat.  
“Yes I do,” Bucky insists. “I hate the Avengers. I hate Tony Stark and his loud fucking parties. I. Hate. _Everything_.”  
Steve kisses the nape of his neck. “Even me?”  
“Especially you.”

Steve chuckles and holds out the mug. “Here.”  
“What fresh hell is this?”  
“It’s ginger. It’ll settle your stomach.”  
Bucky turns around far enough to fix Steve with a baleful glare. “Extraction is the only solution Steve. You’re going to have to take out my brain and stick it in a jar. I’ll not stand another minute in this flesh prison.”  
Steve presses another kiss to the nape of his neck. It looks lonely so he gives it a couple of friend in a neat little row along the curve of Bucky’s shoulder. “I like your flesh prison.”  
Bucky taps his metal fingers against the rim of the mug _tap-tap-tap_ and hums. “Robot body? I’m already one fifth of the way there?”  
“Drink your tea, Buck.” Steve says patiently.  
Bucky looks into the mug dubiously. “It’s got bits in it.”  
“Yeah. Like I said, it’s ginger.”  
“I ain't drinking hot twig water.”  
Steve pushes his hand under Bucky’s shirt, curling it around until it rests on his flat, firm stomach and he starts to stroke in slow circles. “Bruce said it would help.”  
“Bruce thought taking a shower in gamma radiation was a swell idea too.”  
“It’s Ayurveda.”  
“It’s frickin’ _weeds_.”  
Steve keeps massaging Bucky’s stomach, slow and steady. “It’ll make you feel better.”  
Bucky growls at him, but takes a cautious sip.

Buck drinks his tea slowly, grumbling occasionally at the tea, at Steve, at everything in the twenty first century including, but not limited to the price of everything, bananas went wrong somewhere along the line, and why aren’t we on Mars when we went to the Moon ages ago?  
Steve huffs. “I’d forgotten,” he says into the soft fabric of Bucky’s shirt.  
“That’s my line,” Bucky quips, plucking a fibrous thread of ginger from between his teeth.  
Steve pokes him gently in the stomach, and gets his hand slapped for his troubles.  
“I mean I’d forgotten how bad you were at getting sick.” Steve lets his hand trail upwards, pressing his palm to Bucky’s chest and feeling the steady pulse of his heart.  
“Yeah?” Bucky swirls the last of his ginger tea around in the cup. “Don’t remember that.”  
Steve nods. “I was a pretty bad patient.” Bucky snorts at that, and Steve prods him again. “But you were worse. Didn’t matter how sick you got, you’d still drag yourself off to work, come home burnin’ up with fever and shakin’ so bad you couldn’t even smoke a cigarette, let alone drink a cup of coffee or force some food down you.” Steve stares into space, lost in memory. “Scared the hell out of me.”  
Bucky presses a hand over Steve’s, still warm from holding the mug. Grounding, familiar. “Ain’t we a matched pair, huh?”  
“Yeah,” Steve’s voice is warm. “We are.”

Bucky leans forward and sets the mug on the floor.  
“You feeling better?” Steve asks as he shifts around on the blankets, curling up on his side.  
Bucky grunts an affirmative. When Steve doesn’t get the hint Bucky grabs him by the wrist and tugs him closer, until Steve spoons up behind him and pulls the covers around them both.  
“I guess I’ll live,” Bucky concedes. “Though we’re banning Vision from cooking, ya hear me?”  
“Sure thing, Buck.” Steve has no intention of trying Visions cooking again either. The ceviche that he’d brought to the party had been _moving_.  
“I don’t care if he has a brain the size of a planet and a magic crystal in his face,” Bucky huffs. “The guy can’t cook for shit.”  
“Well, he’s not got any tastebuds,” Steve points out.  
Bucky huffs and turns to give Steve a kiss on the cheek. He misses and catches the jut of his chin, but figures it’s close enough. “Thanks. For the tea,” he says gruffly. “I feel better.”  
“Good,” Steve murmurs.  
There is a long pause. Long enough for Steve to get nervous.  
“Buck?”  
Steve doesn’t need to see Bucky’s grin to know it’s there. He can hear it.  
“There any left?”  
“Yeah,” Steve thinks for a moment and holds his thumb and forefinger apart. “This much, I think?”  
Bucky sniggers.  
“What?” Steve pokes him in the ribs, stomach ache be damned. “What?”  
Bucky shakes his head and cackles. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”  
"Bucky," Steve doesn't whine. He does not. Bucky tangles their fingers together and pulls him close.  
"Go to sleep, Stevie. Lots to do tomorrow."  
Steve doesn't pout either. Bucky flicks at his not-pout with a fingertip, and waits for the penny to drop.


End file.
